


In A Moment I'm Older

by shield_maiden



Series: Bellarke One-shots [6]
Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Birthday Presents, Canonical Character Death, Character Study, F/M, Fluff, POV Second Person
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-09
Updated: 2015-01-09
Packaged: 2018-03-06 20:13:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,222
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3147137
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shield_maiden/pseuds/shield_maiden
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for tumblr user rashaka who asked for "Clarke gives Bellamy a gift, a drawing that she thought he'd like, and he is far more moved than she expected."</p><p> </p><p>  <i>'It’s your 24th birthday. The first one you've ever spent breathing real, clean, fresh air, feeling the sunlight warm your face, and hearing the crunch of leaves under your feet. Those things feel like gifts you don’t quite deserve, given the things you've done and who you are. No one has anything to give as gifts, or so you think, now that what remains of the ark’s population is living in the twisted, tangled wreck.'</i></p>
            </blockquote>





	In A Moment I'm Older

**Author's Note:**

  * For [rashaka](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rashaka/gifts).



> Title is from 'Never Gonna Change' by Broods.  
> Not my characters. Unbeta'd.  
> If you want to find me on tumblr and send me a prompt my fandom tumblr is @crimson--petrichor  
> Comments make my day!

It’s your 24th birthday. The first one you've ever spent breathing real, clean, fresh air, feeling the sunlight warm your face, and hearing the crunch of leaves under your feet. Those things feel like gifts you don’t quite deserve, given the things you've done and who you are.

No one has anything to give as gifts, or so you think, now that what remains of the ark’s population is living in the twisted, tangled wreck. But then again, when you were in space your Mother had never been able to give you anything either, at most you got some new hand-me-downs or just a pile of your own clothes she’d lovingly repaired. But it was enough. 

After your family was torn apart, your birthday turned into a day of sadness and anger, at yourself, at the chancellor, at the whole system. You’d spent those days drinking an entire six months-worth of meager alcohol rations, which you’d saved especially for the occasion, until you were numb to the sadness and anger that prickled beneath your skin. 

  
* * * * *

Octavia is the first person to surprise you, she’d bounded over to hug you and press a kiss to your cheek.

“Happy Birthday, big brother.” She’d said, with her wild grin as she’d practically vibrated with excitement before turning to Lincoln and nodding in your direction.

He steps forward, extending his hand which you grip firmly. You and he respect each other now. He cares for your sister just as much as you do, and he keeps her in check better than you ever did. Still a man of few words, he silently hands over their gifts to you. 

A hand carved bow and a set of arrows, fletched with grey. You look up from them to see your sister smiling, and you can’t help but smile too and pull her into another hug. Over the top of her head you make eye contact with Lincoln and he nods, understanding the silent thank you you’re sending him. Later you’ll realize you’ll have to ask him to teach you how to use it, because you have no idea at all.

  
* * * * *

Miller and Murphy are the the last people you expect anything from. As far as you know they had no idea when your birthday was. But they are your friends, your brothers; If not by blood then by circumstance. And Murphy has changed -like you all have you suppose- he’s still blunt and sarcastic, but he’s no longer cruel for fun.

They pass a neat pile of ration tokens across the table to you at lunch. It’s not a huge stack, maybe twelve at the most, but you know it’s more than either of them can afford to give. Before you can protest and push them back across the wooden table top, Murphy is supplying the answer to the question you hadn’t asked.

“We asked around, the rest of the Hundred. We all gave what we could spare, if we could spare it.” He says in his drawling tone, looking at you with his usual half lidded gaze. 

“You’re the reason we’re alive, man.” Miller adds. And you smile, somewhat sadly. There are also people who have died in part because of you. But, you think, many more would have died if no-one had made the tough choices. You thank them as humbly as you can as you slip the tokens into your pocket.

  
* * * * *

The final gift you receive is waiting for you when you return after dark, from hunting with members of the guard. You’re exhausted, the same bone deep tired you’ve felt every night on earth. It’s a product of hard work, stress, and never quite enough food or sleep. You toe your boots off automatically, kicking them aside into a corner and you’re just about to flop down face first into your nest of furs when you see it, resting on your makeshift pillow. A perfect cylinder of creamy paper, the corners creased and yellowed with age. You run your fingers over the edges, feeling the smooth texture, being extra careful where it’s softened by repeated creasing. There’s a string tying it together, the bow is neat and even before you tug it undone and watch the paper unfurl onto your lap.

Instantly you recognize the scene that has been so carefully reproduced on paper for you. It’s the little waterfall about half an hour’s walk from the drop ship –it’s much further away now, at least an hour- it was where you always went to think and clear your head. You swear you can hear the rushing sound of the waterfall as you look at the sketch. The details are phenomenal, you can see the ripples on the lake’s surface, and even the textures of the rocks have been captured perfectly.

You only know two people who can draw like this, Lincoln, and Clarke. You’re certain it’s not the former, the bow and quiver are resting against the wall across from you. So it must be from the later. You take a closer look at the drawing, and sure enough, in the corner is a small ‘C.G.’ in neat cursive.

And it makes sense, you’d taken her there once, after the ark had come down and she’d escaped Mount Weather, after Finn. She’d been so broken, pushing herself harder than you’d ever seen, anything to forget. So you took her for a walk, to where you go to forget; in the hope that it would bring her peace. You need to thank her for the drawing, right now, you decide as you pull your boots back on and leave the laces loose and untied in your hurry.

Camp Jaha is quiet as you cross the open space between your tent and the wreck of the Ark – You’d been offered a permanent room inside, but honestly, you prefer sleeping outside most of the time. Sometimes you bunk with Miller though if the weather is shitty.- and quickly make your way to her door and knock lightly, hoping she’s still awake.

She is. Her hair is damp from bathing and she looks tired and much older than her now eighteen years. But then again, you suppose you look older than your own twenty-four. The artificial lighting in her room looks wrong against her now tanned skin and golden hair, it gives her an almost sickly pallor, but you notice how pretty she is regardless.

Clarke’s looking at you expectantly, and you suddenly remember why you’ve come here, and then milliseconds later comes the fear of not knowing what to say. It turns your tongue to stone in your mouth, and time seems to slow to a crawl as you fidget, scuffing the toe of your boot against the cold metal floor.

“If you don’t like the picture –“She starts and you jerk your head up with a frown and interrupt her.

“No. The picture’s…” You pause, running a hand through your hair as you try to collect your thoughts. “The picture is amazing, Clarke. Like really, really amazing. Thank you.”

She hugs you then, and you wrap your arms around her waist.

“Princess, how did you know it was my birthday anyway?” You ask, looking down at her.

“I might have hunted down your medical records.” Clarke admits, grinning into your shoulder.

You should’ve known.


End file.
